


Foundations

by Mishka_kitty



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishka_kitty/pseuds/Mishka_kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every relationship has to start somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foundations

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Українська available: [Фундамент](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6291037) by [Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub/pseuds/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Фундамент](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292495) by [Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub/pseuds/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub)



> So that point when you have over 5 other projects you need to finish and your brain decides to throw something at you out of the blue that demands to be written.  
> Thanks to [Harlequinade13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlequinade13/pseuds/Harlequinade13) for the beta.

Tiny hands blindly reaching, the nails bitten and broken to the quick.

Red-rimmed, feverish eyes, the right still inflamed and barely open.

White bandages against even whiter skin, the pristine cloth stained in places by the fluids of infection.  
And the screams. The screaming is the worst.

The creature thinks that he could handle the rest, the coddling and cleaning and caring, if the child would just stop screaming! It is something which he can enjoy for a while but it is not long before his sensitive ears are aching from the high, broken sounds.

"Master, please! You must rest. Your body will never heal if it receives no rest."

Tortured eyes lock with the gaze of hell and do not see it. The visions of hell supplied by the hazed mind are somehow worse than the true thing.

A hand reaches from the shadows, appearing perfectly human save for the ebony nails. But the second the fingers make contact with the heated skin of the flushed cheek, though they are gentle, trying to soothe, the frail body jerks back so violently that it nearly falls off the bed. One small, hot hand shoots out with shocking accuracy and the creature is surprised by the sharp sting of the slap. It has been a while since pain was a real concern but this is not what surprises him. Even lost in fever dreams his new master has a remarkable spirit. And a good aim. Perhaps he can stand the screaming after all.

On the third day, when the child wakes enough to find his voice again, the creature begins to question his resolve once more. He questions the wisdom of this contract. Wonders what he thought he, a creature of pain and hate and ravenous hunger, can do with a child on the verge of insanity and death. He wonders where the lucid, determined boy is; the one that, even with all his youth and weakness, the creature could still manage to respect. If he could not still scent that same soul, he would question if he has lost his prize before he has had a chance to earn it. When the child's voice finally breaks, vocal chords giving out, capable of producing only breathy whimpers, the creature sighs in relief. His hands are far gentler than they have been as he tends to the open wounds.

On the fifth day, the burning eyes finally open and focus on the creature standing vigil at the bedside. Cracked lips part but nothing comes out. His voice has not returned to him but he tries anyway, becoming obviously frustrated when the creature only shakes his head in confusion. It is not time to change the dressings and he has done all he can for the pain.

A breathy groan escapes the child and his eyes flick around the room as though looking for something. One hand lifts weakly from the mattress like a baby bird attempting its first flight. The child points towards something and when the creature turns to see what it is, he cannot help feeling incredibly dense. Of course.

He reaches out, carefully this time; he has no desire to be struck a sixth time. But those eyes are clearer than they have been in days and, though the child flinches, he does not lash out. The creature finds himself fascinated by the sight of the seal etched on the right iris. It is beautiful to him, his mark of ownership and rightful claim. But he has had little chance to see it thus far. So he cannot help mourn a little when he loses the sight again as he carefully curls an arm around the thin shoulders to lift the child up and those bright eyes squeeze closed against painful tears. The creature places the edge of the glass against the dry lips and slowly tips water into the waiting mouth drop by drop. This is tedious and trying work for a denizen of hell, all of this solicitude, but he smiles nevertheless, fangs glinting in the low light. The second he met that focused gaze, all wondering and second-guessing ceased. Yes, this meal is worth it.

Three more times the child returns to the conscious world only long enough to accept the gift of water from dark hands. The fourth time the creature catches those mismatched eyes watching him, he has the water glass in hand before he can be asked. But this time is different. Turning his back briefly to set down the glass, he startles slightly at the sound of a fragile, but audible voice.

"What is your name, demon? What do I call you?"

The first time his master has spoken to him since the formation of the contract and the creature finds himself speechless for a moment by all he can hear in that voice. The pain is sweet, the exhaustion amusing, the strength addictive, the unbroken pride incredible.

"I ... I do not have one, master. Not one which a human could pronounce at any rate. The language of hell is not meant to be spoken by beings restricted to a static form. You may call me whatever you wish."

"Oh," comes the small reply. And when the creature looks again, his seal is once more hidden from sight.

As the child's periods of lucidity gradually become longer, the creature finds himself growing intrigued by the mind behind the haunted eyes, not just the soul. There is a sharp intelligence disguised by the face of a ten-year-old mortal child. A quick wit that the creature thinks he will enjoy testing. A thirst for knowledge that is not quenched no matter how long the creature speaks of the past and his own experiences. He will not bother to deny he likes to watch the avid curiosity and interest on the child's face as he talks. Hours when the child cannot rest are filled instead with lessons no human tutor could ever offer. And his master clings to the thread of mental distraction and slowly climbs. 

"Sebastian," the child, his master, says one evening as the creature exchanges old bandages for new. The wounds are finally closing, all signs of infection gone. The fever broke completely two days before.

"Pardon me, master?" Black nails very gently pry at the edge of a bandage.

"Sebastian. It is what I will call you," the child replies calmly.

He winces as the fresh medicine and dressing is applied but he is done crying out. Now conscious of himself, he clinches his jaw against the pain. The creature finds it amusing and a little endearing considering they both know very well just how loudly he can, and did, scream.

"Very good then, my lord," Sebastian says. He supposes he must begin to grow accustomed to this name now, rather than later. It is a good enough name, he thinks.

The first time Sebastian tries to feed his master anything heavier than broth, he quickly discovers what it is like to support a trembling child as he helplessly empties the entire contents of his stomach into a bucket. It would have been the floor but for Sebastian's speed.

"Idiot!" the boy snaps, voice raw. "My stomach has had nothing but liquids for weeks. Meat is not what I should be eating."

Anger flares in the flaming eyes. What does this presumptuous brat expect from a creature of death. He has done the best he can in nursing this child back to health and he is rather proud of his efforts. But he is not infallible, however much he would like to think he is.

"Do forgive me, master. But why did you eat it then?" It doesn't matter in the slightest to Sebastian that his tone is cruelly mocking.

The anguish in the child's soft reply mollifies him somewhat. "Because I am too hungry to know what I am eating."

The creature nods and tries again. This time no meat. The foundation has been lain for their relationship for the rest of their association.

It is nearly three weeks before Sebastian watches his master drift off to sleep and feels confident enough in his well-being to leave his side for a greatly needed break. He swears to himself that if he hears those damned screams again, if he feels the burning tug of the contract, he will ignore it. Even an immortal being can become tired and frustrated by such unrelenting tedium and annoyance. But he has made no oath not to lie to himself.

His hand aches; his mind strains towards the one who calls. He finds himself on his feet and moving before the conscious decision to do so has been made. A bitter laugh echoes down the empty corridors of this ghost of a mansion. Who is the weak one here anyway?

But his master is not screaming for those he has lost this time. He is not calling for the dead who can never hear him and certainly cannot answer.

"Sebastian! Sebastian, please!"

Darkness enfolds the tiny, shivering form and for the first time, his human does not flinch away.

"Hush now, master. I am here. I will keep you safe. You know this."

The only answer comes in the form of tiny fingers clinging to the fabric of the uniform he has donned in this persona. The creature holds his master, relieved as the panicky need to protect eases. Then:

"You were not here. I can feel their hands, I can see their faces still, and I couldn't find you."

Even hell knows protection and the guilt of failure.

"I am sorry, master," Sebastian whispers into the sweat dampened hair.

"Where were you?" A hint of his haughty master reveals itself and the creature bares sharp teeth in a grin.

"I was resting, my lord. Even I can grow weary over time."

"Oh." Silence, then, "You could rest here."

"Master, I do need sleep."

"I will disturb you less if you are here where I can see you," his master says reasonably. His irritation is clearly not lost on the human. Sebastian starts to reply but he is interrupted. "Sebastian, stay with me. Sleep here if you must but stay with me. That ... that's an order."

"Yes, my lord," the creature says slowly. And they both feel a shift that neither can quantify.

He doesn't release his master as those surprisingly strong fingers show no sign of releasing his shirt. He merely stretches out on his master's bed, most improper, but he has no one to impress now and he has been ordered. This is more peaceful than he could have ever imagined.

An indeterminable time later, a single large blue eye peaks up at him from beneath tangled fringe. "I dreamed you were singing," his master says softly. "It was beautiful ... and painful ... but I couldn't understand the language."

"No," he answers, startled to learn that he was heard. "You would not. It is a language never spoken by man."

"You stayed."

"Did you think I would not?"

"Yes."

"But master, you did order me to stay." Sebastian blinks down at his little human in confusion.

"Yes, but I did not specify how long you had to stay," the child replies.

The mind of a child who will put adults to shame, the creature thinks and his lips twist in a delighted smile. And he is mine.

"I will not leave you, master."

His master frowns up at him. "Everyone leaves sooner or later." He speaks only the cruel truth which has been branded into his mind and soul and skin.

The creature shakes his head. "I do not abandon what is mine. I cannot and will not leave you, my young master."

Ciel lifts his head finally and locks his eyes with the eyes of hell. Here, at last, is the extraordinary human to whom the creature had offered his contract, eyes clear and tone demanding respect and obedience. "Swear to me, Sebastian. Swear to me that you will not leave me." 

Sebastian feels the seal burn on the back of his hand and his eyes flash crimson. Yes, this bittersweet soul is well worth his time and all his irritation. Let the world fall to ashes at his master's feet and hell have mercy on the one who dares lay hands on what is his.

"Yes, my lord. I swear by the contract that binds us together, I will not leave your side. Until the end."


End file.
